


Not Broken Just Bent

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, That Cuddling Murdered My Ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: Anonymous said:plsplsplsplsplsplsplspls write your take on what happened between the church and wyndolls in bed in the morning





	Not Broken Just Bent

Eyes glazed and open, Wynonna clings to his coat and he gasps from the weight of losing—of almost losing her, peppers her face with kisses until the paramedic breaks in awkwardly, asking if she can sit up.  She clears her throat and nods, lets the two of them help her upright, and there’s a terrifying moment when her eyes flutter closed.  But then she’s looking at him, and there’s a well of pain there.

“Do you think you can stand?” the paramedic asks, and Wynonna looks at him like she just realized he was there and bobs her head slowly.

Between the two of them, they get her to sit in the back of the ambulance, face so white under the harsh lights she almost looks like a ghost, face drawn and sniffing and he can’t help but touch her—her face, her neck, her hair, presses his lips and nose to her temple as she leans into him and she smells like smoke.  He can hear her hollow, distant voice answer questions— _can you tell me your name? do you know what happened? are you experiencing any pain?_ —and he feels her tense when they check her belly, feels some of that tension loosen when they confirm a heartbeat. 

“Of course, we can’t really—we can’t see if there’s anything going on inside, so you should really go to a hospital,” says the paramedic—just a kid, really, and not part of the Order.  “Do you want to go to the ER?”

_“No_ ,” Wynonna croaks emphatically, shaking her head and dislodging Dolls.

“Wynonna, maybe you should—”

“Not the ER,” she says, voice clearer and stronger, eyes flicking over to the kid, then back at him.  “I’ll—I’ll go to a walk-in at—but not…”

“Okay, okay,” he whispers, pulling her closer, into his chest, and she lets him, lets her head rest against his neck, knuckles white with her grasp on his sleeve.

“Take me home,” she mumbles, so quiet and so, _so_ small he thinks his heart actually breaks.  “Please, I just… I wanna go home.”

Throat tight, he barely manages his, “Yeah…  Yeah, okay.”

She lists into his side as he helps her half-stumble back to the SUV, helps her step up into the passenger seat, reminds her gently to buckle up when she sits, stalk still and eyes forward.  He wants to ask where she went, wants to hear what she saw that’s made her eyes go distant and haunted, the questions press behind his teeth, but instead he smooths her hair and shuts the door softly.  Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her hands stroking up and down her belly, and he reaches out before he can think better of it, tentatively touches the back of her hand before taking it into his own.

“I, um,” she stops and clears her throat, “I heard your voice.  I heard you telling me to wake up and come back and—” _please, please, please_.  “Did you tell me not to do anything stupid?”

“I did,” he says evenly.

Her fingers squeeze his.  “I _didn’t_.”

“I’m very proud.”

She huffs a dry laugh.  Idly, almost thoughtlessly, she traces the lines of his palm and says nothing until they get to the homestead, still holding his hand.  “Come inside,” she says quietly, half-plea and half-order. 

“Are you—”

“Please,” she whispers, voice thin.  “Please come inside.”

There are tears in her eyes when he looks at her face, drawn and open and he’s nodding even as he shuts off the SUV.  She hasn’t moved to get out when he gets to her door, so he opens it and she starts, seems to realize she zoned out.  He watches her swipe at her face and her motions are quick and jerky when she unbuckles, heaves herself out of her seat and into his space.  His arms go around her instinctively, and she shoves her face into his neck and takes a shuddering breath as his fingers comb through her hair.

He doesn’t realize he’s even talking for a second, just a steady stream of _you’re okay, I’m here, you’re fine, you’re here, we’re here, it’s okay_.  Her face is wet when she kisses him and he can feel her shaking, can feel the prickle in his own eyes and the way his throat tightens. 

“Why—wait,” she pushes back, sniffing.  “Why now?”

“You—I could have lost you,” he whispers, knocking their foreheads together as he feels her deep inhale.  “I almost lost you.  Kinda lights a fire under your ass.”  She coughs out something like a laugh.  He pulls back enough to cup her jaw.  “I have wasted _so much time_.  I can’t imagine—I don’t want to imagine a life without you, by my side.”

“Why _me_ , though?” she asks weakly.

There’s more that should be said right now, but all he can manage is, “Because it’s _you_.”

Her face crumbles just a little, and his chest aches with it, and her eyes slide shut and she holds him tighter and drops her forehead onto his shoulder and shakes her head.  “I—it’s you, too,” she whispers.

He kisses what he can touch and coaxes, “C’mon, let’s get inside.  Cold as shit out here.”

Snorting, she takes his hand and knocks into him gently as they walk up to the house.  The door isn’t locked, and he watches her look around like she barely recognizes the place, dreamy and tired.  “Will you stay the night?” she asks, so quiet and unsure it punches the air out of him. 

“Of course, if you want me to,” he says.

Her eyes snap up to his, suddenly alert.  “I want you to.”

They hang up their coats and she grabs his shoulder to steady herself as she tugs off her boots.  His arm wraps around her shoulders as they make their way down the hall to her room.  He’s never actually been inside, and there’s something of a nervous twist in her lips.

“I spent all day asleep,” she mumbles, exasperated.  “Shouldn’t even be _legal_ to be this tired.”  He bumps a kiss into her forehead.  She eyes him just short of suspiciously.  “You’re not wearing jeans in bed.”

“Okay,” he agrees, “Are you gonna change or does the jeans rule only apply to me?”

“Just get undressed,” she snarks, going to her dresser.  He tugs his sweater off and shoves his jeans off and climbs under the comforter.  He’s got his hands under his head when she finished changing, all cutoff sweats and tank top and it _shouldn’t_ be heart-stoppingly beautiful and yet…  “Just make yourself at home, eh?”

Smirking, he tilts his chin forward and doesn’t say _I am_.  “Come _here_ ,” he _does_ say.

He watches her bite her lip around a smile, watery and thin but _there_ , and smack the light switch on her way to the bed.  Under the covers, her arm slides around his middle and her lips press into his bare shoulder.  He twists into her, and she lays back, eyes glinting in the meager moonlight that’s filtered in through the window.  He kisses her forehead and her cheekbones and her jaw and her lips.  It’s chaste and gentle and she sighs into his lips.

“I just— _God,”_ she whispers, fingers clutching the back of his neck and high on one arm. 

He wants to keep kissing her, wants this moment to last—but she yawns, stifling it with one hand, and he settles next to her, thumb swiping over her cheek as she turns to face him.  “Get some sleep, love,” he murmurs. 

Everything else can wait until tomorrow morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to that anon for requesting this because umm... basically I needed this and didn't even know it.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to swing by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where I don't think I've stopped talking about this show for like over a year. Also, I take prompts.


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